Anniversary
by broadwanime
Summary: Yet another drabble by the geek: Xander goes into a bar on a special anniversary...


You know the guys who come into a bar to celebrate their engagement to the gal they've loved for as long as they can remember?

I'm not one of them.

Or how about those fellas who come in to drink the sorrow of the break-up away, knowing that in their heart of hearts the girl was "the one?"

I'm not one of them.

You know those veterans who come in once a year on the anniversary of some big battle to drink the night away to honor, remember, and, hell, to forget their friends who didn't make it through?

Yeah. I'm one of those guys.

Yeah, I know I sure as Hell don't look the part. I'm not some old guy dressed in my uniform with a cane who lectures you "whippersnappers" about what it was like back in my day, or who tells gruesome stories about a war half a century ago. Thank God for that much.

That's as much as I'm thanking him for, though.

I'm young, about 25 years old. Never went to college, but IO had a pretty decent career as a carpenter. I helped to build the new high school in Sunnydale before it collapsed. Not the school, the town. You can go and check if you don't believe me, but I guarantee that all you'll find is a big, giant hole of nothing.

Is that the anniversary I'm celebrating?

No, strangely enough. Sure people died, and I respect them for it. I just don't mourn any of them anymore.

I know it sounds cruel, but I don't. When you've seen as much death as I have (and believe me, I've seen a lot of it), you stop mourning people you didn't know too well. Or, at least, you only mourn them as long as you have to.

Like Anya.

I did know her, once, a long time ago, before I lost my eye. I maybe even loved her then.

I'm not really sure anymore. But, hey, is anyone sure of anything when everyone they loved is buried six feet under?

Okay, I'm getting sidetracked. But I'm drunk as all Hell (and take it from a guy who's been there- well, knew people who'd been there), so I have an excuse.

Right, so you want to know what happened to kill all my friends, huh?

Does it matter?

Ha! And you were still waiting for the punch line!

What?

So what if it's anticlimactic? Does it really matter? Does it matter that one of my closest friends, one of the strongest (and I mean that literally) people I know- knew, was tossed back and forth from demon to demon like a rag doll before they snapped her neck?

Does it matter that her little sister had her heart ripped from her chest and shoved down her throat until it back in her chest again, and all because she was trying to help her big sister? All because she was trying to be brave and do the right thing? Does it matter?

Does it matter that the guy who was a like a father to me, to all of us (he was better than our own flesh and blood, anyway) was burned alive? Can you imagine that? Watching a man you consider to be your father burn to ashes before your eyes? We couldn't even collect the ashes to give him a proper burial, for God's sake! But does that matter?

Does it matter that my best friend in the whole wide world, one of the most powerful people on the face of the goddamn planet can never smile at me again? That her beautiful green eyes will never light up again when I walk into her room? Her hospital room?

Oh, she's alive, I suppose. She breathes and her heart beats just fine.

But the eyes are the windows to the soul, right? And your soul is who you are, what makes you a person?

Then you're too late. Her eyes are dead, which means her soul is dead, and that makes her fucking dead.

No. No, don't you dare raise that glass. Don't you even fucking dare!

Don't you dare try to make a cheer for them! I don't need your fucking pity and neither do they! Just shut the Hell up!

You weren't there! You didn't have to watch them all die before you! You didn't have to worry about what to put on their headstones, or have to give a eulogy for them, or find a fucking black suit for each and every one of their funerals! You didn't have to call everyone up and tell them that they were dead!

I hate you! I hate you for being able to walk around everyday without guilt! I hate that you weren't there to watch them die, I hate that you don't have to feel guilty for it, I hate that they fucking died and left me alone! I hate it!

Shit… You've got me crying now. See what your little sympathy cheer did? Huh? This is what happens to you when you try to do good! It backfires on you and leaves you with nothing! Nothing but guilt, and pain, and hate, and… and…

What are you doing?

No! Don't touch me! I don't need your goddamn pity hug! I don't need it! I don't…

I don't…

Oh God…

Oh my God…

They're dead... They're all dead…

I'm alone...


End file.
